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Front Page arrow Titles (by Subject) arrow XIII.: BEOWULF HATH THE VICTORY: GRENDEL IS HURT DEADLY AND LEAVETH HAND AND ARM IN THE HALL. - The Tale of Beowulf, sometime King of the Folk of the Weder Geats

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Subject Area: Literature
Topic: Epic Literature

XIII.: BEOWULF HATH THE VICTORY: GRENDEL IS HURT DEADLY AND LEAVETH HAND AND ARM IN THE HALL. - Beowulf, The Tale of Beowulf, sometime King of the Folk of the Weder Geats [750 AD]

Edition used:

The Tale of Beowulf, sometime King of the Folk of the Weder Geats, trans. William Morris and A.J. Wyatt (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1910).

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XIII.

BEOWULF HATH THE VICTORY: GRENDEL IS HURT DEADLY AND LEAVETH HAND AND ARM IN THE HALL.

  • NAUGHT would the earls’ help for anything thenceforth
  • That murder-comer yet quick let loose of,
  • Nor his life-days forsooth to any of folk
  • Told he for useful. Out then drew full many
  • Of Beowult’s earls the heir-loom of old days,
  • For their lord and their master’s fair life would they ward,
  • That mighty of princes, if so might they do it.
  • For this did they know not when they the strife dreed,
  • Those hardy-minded men of the battle,
  • And on every half there thought to be hewing,
  • And search out his soul, that the ceaseless scather
  • Not any on earth of the choice of all irons,
  • Not one of the war-bills, would greet home for ever.
  • For he had forsworn him from victory-weapons,
  • And each one of edges. But his sundering of soul
  • In the days that we tell of, the day of this life,
  • Should be weary and woeful, the ghost wending elsewhere
  • To the wielding of fiends to wend him afar.
  • Then found he out this, he who mickle erst made
  • Out of mirth of his mood unto children of men
  • And had fram’d many crimes, he the foeman of God,
  • That the body of him would not bide to avail him,
  • But the hardy of mood, even Hygelac’s kinsman,
  • Had him fast by the hand: now was each to the other
  • All loathly while living: his body-sore bided
  • The monster: was manifest now on his shoulder
  • The unceasing wound, sprang the sinews asunder,
  • The bone-lockers bursted. To Beowulf now
  • Was the battle-fame given; should Grendel thenceforth
  • Flee life-sick awayward and under the fen-bents
  • Seek his unmerry stead: now wist he more surely
  • That ended his life was, and gone over for ever,
  • His day-tale told out. But was for all Dane-folk
  • After that slaughter-race all their will done.
  • Then had he cleans’d for them, he the far-comer,
  • Wise and stout-hearted, the high hall of Hrothgar,
  • And sav’d it from war. So the night-work he joy’d in
  • And his doughty deed done. Yea, but he for the East-Danes
  • That lord of the Geat-folk his boast’s end had gotten,
  • Withal their woes bygone all had he booted,
  • And the sorrow hate-fashion’d that afore they had dreed,
  • And the hard need and bitter that erst they must bear,
  • The sorrow unlittle. Sithence was clear token
  • When the deer of the battle laid down there the hand
  • The arm and the shoulder, and all there together
  • Of the grip of that Grendel ’neath the great roof upbuilded.